


Bubblegum Bitch

by cheesehunter



Series: Drafts and unfinished [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blood, M/M, Prostitution, Smut, Unfinished, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesehunter/pseuds/cheesehunter
Summary: "La fin justifie les moyens." has got to be your motto if the whole world's against you.xxxPete the cold-hearted (and everything else) vampire meets Patrick and his faith in humanity is restored (after a while).





	Bubblegum Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE WORK, NOR DO I PLAN ON COMPLETING IT. I'm just saying because some people hate reading unfinished stuff. Anyway, it's been floating around my desktop for awhile but inspiration ran away from me so take it as it is. Please feel free to use anything from this, if you think any of it deserves to be used XD. It's not edited and missing a lot of scenes, so,,,,, idk,,, imagine them ?

Pete liked wearing short leather skirts that rode almost up to his ass. They made it so round and pretty, teasing, and he loved that. He liked fishnets that made him look like a whore, and chewing pink bubblegum, and wearing his latest conquest’s jean jackets. Dark lipstick that accentuated the playful glint of his fangs. He liked mesh shirts with nothing underneath to show off his nipple piercings, and how everyone’s eyes would eat him alive as he walked down the street in stilettos and acrylic blood red nails. He liked to lower his shades and have a look from behind a perfect smokey, look at that bunch of horny idiots that chased his hips yet loved to degrade him, and what he liked most of all was to know after a few hookups, he could completely destroy them. He could crush them with the power of a hydraulic press and watch their hearts shatter in pieces as he revealed his secret. 

Pete could never love anyone. 

No human was or would ever be good enough. They were but filthy beings that only mildly respected him while they were at arm’s length because he could rip their throats out in one smooth movement and of course, because he gave himself away to them. Virginity doesn’t mean a lot to you when you lose it as soon as you can in the back of a dark alley because it’s that or dying of hunger and fuck, no one just gives their blood away for free. It’s a cold world when you live off other people. It is a cold world when you’ve never learned to shiver.

Pete liked that if he bent down, they’d all see what he was wearing and salivate, because he knew as soon as he saw them, he’d salivate. Delicate symbiosis built in a few knowing looks. Their fragile skin and the blood underneath, throbbing with life and emanating sweetness, Pete couldn’t wait to run his tongue over it and watch them tremble – is it worth it? – until they nodded hesitantly, and then he’d sink his fangs as far in as they’d go, and they’d let him, post-coital as they were, dispose of them as he pleased.

In this world it’s eat or be eaten, and he knew which side he wanted to be on.

 

As he does each night after sundown, Pete rode his motor bike to Violent Violet, a club not so far from downtown. It was a pleasant time to ride, as the wind caressed his body and left him with an aftertaste of power. The purple neons were no longer what they had been, some of the letters titillated with a promise of some day turning off, but for now, they patched up the sign every now and again and it did the job. He jumped off his bike and left it in an alley, against a wall, placing his keys where no one would find them – inside the heel of his booth – and making his way to the glass doors that lead to a once elegant joint. The red carpet that rolled down from the stage to the door was not unlike a tongue, in which case the two lights by the ceiling were observing his every movement. The tongue was split though, as another carpet took a 90° and licked at the feet of whoever wanted a drink. 

There, leaning on his elbows, stood a blonde beauty.

Pete walked over, inquisitive;

“I’ve heard there’s a new motel that’s just freshly open.. We could christen their beds if you want..”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you, bloodsucker. A gin for me and one for the slut,” Then he turned to said person with a playful smile. “ I’ve never screwed around with a vamp, you know.”  
Pete had to hold back the roll of his eyes and smile politely. “I won’t disappoint.”

Somewhere between dream and reality, they ended up pressed up against the wall, with desperation, with need, vibrating against each other with each sound and feeding off the knowledge it would come soon. Whatever it was, they both needed it urgently, it was a question of prime importance, so when Patrick said “Bed.” it was an order that sounded much like an invitation and Pete couldn’t say no. The room around him was pulsating, and so was he, hands whitening the skin they pressed against, but the other was into it, so, whatever. Patrick kept grinding back, kept giving him something, but that wasn’t it. Pete knew, the human had no way to know. 

“Fuck me.. fuck me, or you, don’t care, just, please.” Patrick practically begged, slapping Pete’s hand away from his cock.

“I’ll fuck you. Turn around. Where are the condoms?”

 

Patrick let out a soft, desperate moan, tugging harshly on Pete’s hair, his head rolling back to rest on the wall. The little light there was was just enough for him to see the man’s parted lips. Patrick felt his hips stutter, pushing his cock against the back of Pete’s throat. Pete relaxed his muscles, letting his eyes fall shut, accepting the intrusion, welcoming it. 

“Yeah, get me off, you fucking whore.” Patrick whispered into the darkness of the room.

It felt like a kick to the teeth. Pete pulled away, wiping his mouth and spitting on the ground, eyes dark as he got up. 

“Do it yourself, dickhead.” He responded, his voice hoarse. He hadn’t even gotten as little as a droplet of blood, nothing for his poor starved body. Pete got up, pulling his tights back where they belonged and zipping up his miniskirt, his feet going back to his high heels. 

“Wait, hold on.” Patrick demanded, confusion in his voice. “What’s the problem?”

Pete looked over his shoulder, forcing the most fake of all smiles. “I dunno, figure it out.”

And then he turned the handle, clicking his heels as he left.

 

“Pete, listen to me, please.” 

“I don’t feel like talking to you.” Pete declared coldly, arms crossed. He was presently leaning on the wall behind him, his lips black with his darkest lipstick. Instead of the usual outfit, he had picked out a baggy sweater and red leather pants.

“Why not? What’s your fucking problem?”

Pete took the cigarette away from his lips and blew smoke into the grey skies. 

“Me? I don’t have any problems, what about you? You wanna talk about your problems, sweet boy?”

“Jesus Christ, stop doing that! Just talk to me!” Patrick exclaimed, grabbing Pete’s cheeks, his eyes level with the man’s.

Pete leaned in, stealing an angry kiss from Patrick’s lips, almost brutal. Patrick tasted everything – lipstick, someone else’s cum, cigarette, blood, beer.. – he was disgusted as he pulled back, but stayed close, his nose touching Pete’s.

“Talk to me.” He reiterated, softer, touching Pete’s hair with his fingertips. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Pete’s eyes widened for a second, before going back to steel and ice and the fiery flames of hell. “No. Fuck you.”

 

It was a few nights later, and Pete was roaming the streets for some hot body, but nothing came. The beating rain had everyone at their houses, seeking comfort and warmth. He prevailed, lonely as ever. 

When the wind mixed itself with the already disagreeable weather, Pete hid in a phone boot, watching as nature took over with unknown strength. He eyed the phone, and the few pennies he held in his hand. No, he wasn’t a whore. Some people were kind enough to pay him some cigs when he served well enough.

The cold had infiltrated his bones and he was unconsciously shivering with it, because surprisingly, he was cold. Shakily, he took the phone from where it rested. He felt his pocket for the last cigarette, only to find an empty pack and sighed softly, knowing he’d regret this. Sliding the coins into the slit, he waited for the tone, and then dialed.

“Hello?”

“I’m not a whore.”

“Pete?”

“I’m not a whore. And if I were one, I wouldn’t suck you off for a million dollars.” He spat out, bitterly. This wasn’t going according to plans, but he had no reason to apologize. Pete took a deep breath.

“Yeah I know, I was just –...”

“No. I’m not your fucking whore. That’s all.”

“Well listen, I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?” Patrick responded with the mildly exasperated sigh of someone dealing with a child’s tantrum. 

“No. I don’t. You don’t get to call me that. No one gets to call me that. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. Bye.”

“Wait, Pete, where are you? Are you out there?”

“Yes. I am. I’m dying in the cold, but don’t worry, I’m just a bloodsucker slut, aren’t I? Who cares if I die, am I right?” Pete laughed sarcastically.

He smashed the phone back into place, more pissed than before he called and out of smoke money now.

 

“Hi Patrick, you miss me?” Pete purred into the microphone, leaning against the glass panel. Outside was a beautiful, hot summer night, the stars bright and the sky clear.   
“Pete?” 

“How long’s it been, hm? Since you’ve last gotten off.”

“I don’t know, how long’s it been since you last ate?”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t feed from anyone else.”

“Oh please, even if you did, you wouldn’t be satisfied. I see the way you look at me, Pete.”

“Does it turn you on?”

“It’s a little freaky.” Patrick giggled.

“C’mon, you moaned like you were the whore when I bit you, blondie.” Poison flowed from the tip of Pete’s tongue freely.

“Pete..”

“No, no, I didn’t call you for that. I wish I could be there right now, regardless..” He sighed softly

“What would you do, then, if you were here?” Patrick inquired, playing along.

“I’d start by kissing your neck, my hands on your hips, grinding down on you so I can get you hard.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“I’d slide a hand down to your crotch, palm you..”

“Yeah?” Patrick prompted, slightly breathy.

“Get your clothes off, needy little shit.” Pete laughed.

There was some scrambling on the other end of the line.

“Go on.”

“Are you naked?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Get a vibrator. Do as I say and nothing else.”

“Fine, I’ll humor you.”

“Get some lube, too.”

“Yes master.”

Pete chuckled softly but puffed his chest out slightly.

“I’ve got everything.”

“Pretend I’m here with you, yeah?


End file.
